


On Proper Attire for Formal Occasions

by RosalindInPants



Category: The Great Library Series - Rachel Caine
Genre: Ball, Christopher Wolfe does not care about your gender binary, Fluff, Formalwear, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Glain is not wearing a dress, Wolfe in a gown, in-world transphobia, specifically a minor character being a bit of an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24727225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindInPants/pseuds/RosalindInPants
Summary: Jess and his found family have been invited to a ball during a diplomatic mission to America. The ambassador has gifted them with suitable clothing.Well, suitable for some of them.There is no way Glain is wearing that dress.
Relationships: Dario Santiago/Khalila Seif, Niccolo Santi/Christopher Wolfe
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	On Proper Attire for Formal Occasions

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to eli-wray (blessedharlot) for sensitivity reading and feedback. "Letitia Thomas Watson" is from their delightful fic, Glain's Monday, from the Glain: A Week in the Life series, which I cannot recommend highly enough. Seriously, go get your Glain fix: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343071

Surrounded by his adoptive family, Jess stared into the box that occupied most of the table in the sitting room of their guest suite. He’d checked it for traps before opening it, a necessity when staying in America, where anti-Library sentiment still ran high. They were all reasonably certain that the ambassador - who had arranged this gift of formal clothing for the night’s ball - had no intent to harm them. But handwriting could be forged. Delivery people could be bribed. So he’d checked the entire package carefully before opening it.

That hadn’t prepared any of them for what they would find inside. The first few items were nothing remarkable. An elegant gold silk gown for Khalila with matching shoes and hijab, a maroon velvet suit for Dario, and a pair of gold-accented black suits for Wolfe and Santi. But deeper into the box, things became stranger. The very large brocade jacket for Thomas was attractive enough, if far fancier than his usual style, but they’d given Jess a suit in the same vibrant shade of purple as his formal Curia robes, not at all to his taste.

And they’d given Glain a dress.

Not a bad-looking dress, exactly. There was a military style to the high collar and the cuffs that fastened with gleaming gold buttons, and Jess was immediately envious of its rich black color, but from the waist down, it devolved into a cloud of billowing ankle-length skirts.

Rather wishing he’d found a bottle of Greek fire instead, Jess lifted the gown in hopes that there might be some other item of clothing beneath it, but the only thing left in the box was a pair of high-heeled black leather boots.

“I am not wearing that,” Glain said, face scrunched up as if she’d smelled particularly rotten garbage.

Thomas held up his own jacket, eyes darting between it and Glain in the same way they did when comparing parts and machines in the workshop. “I would offer to trade, but I do not think the sizes will be right at all.”

Jess could have hugged Thomas for that, even if the offer didn’t do any good. “I’d say the same, but I’m afraid mine would be too small,” he said. Too bad, really. He might have preferred the dress to the garish purple suit.

“Thanks,” Glain said. “But don’t worry about it. I’ll find something else.”

Dario shook his head. “With hardly more than an hour until the ball? Even I can’t pay a tailor to work that fast, and you won’t find anything of acceptable quality off the rack in America.” He turned his nose up.

“I have my dress uniform,” Glain said with a shrug.

Khalila’s eyes went wide. “No, Glain, you can’t! It would cause a diplomatic incident! And it would be rude to reject the ambassador’s gift.”

“Then I’m not going.” Glain stalked to the hall that led to her bedroom. “Tell them I have food poisoning,” she called over her shoulder.

Jess looked from Kalila, to Dario, to Thomas, all at a loss. Even Santi looked like he wasn’t sure what to make of it, his brows furrowed in thought.

Wolfe, though, swept forward and took the dress from Jess’s hands. “Leave this to me,” he said briskly. “Off with you all, get dressed.”

Thinking it highly unlikely that even Wolfe could persuade Glain to wear a gown, Jess gathered up his own horrid outfit and headed for the room he shared with Thomas.

* * *

When Jess returned to the sitting room, feeling hot and stiff in the purple suit, he found Khalila, Dario, and Glain already there. Dario, pacing by the window, managed to make his suit look elegant, having paired it with a glittering diamond earring and the ebony walking stick he’d appropriated from Jess’s father back in England. Khalila, sitting on the couch with a book in her lap, looked beautiful as always in her dress. She’d added a simple gold circlet over her hijab in recognition of the fact that she was attending in her official capacity, and she looked perfectly at ease.

When his eyes fell on Glain, Jess could only stop and stare. Glain was wearing Wolfe’s suit, down to the polished black shoes.

“But what is Scholar Wolfe wearing?” Thomas asked, coming up behind Jess.

A very good question, that. The only remaining formal outfit was the black gown. Try as he might, Jess couldn’t picture Christopher Wolfe in a gown.

“He wouldn’t say,” Glain said with a shrug. “Just told me not to worry about it.”

“It’s Wolfe,” Dario said, rolling his eyes. “He probably plans to show up in his Scholar’s robe.”

“I do hope not,” Khalila said with a note of worry. “It wouldn’t be as bad as a High Garda uniform, but still… Things are so delicate right now.” At that moment, her Codex chimed, and she flipped the page to check her messages. “Oh, the carriage is here! We need to go.”

“I’ll tell Wolfe and Santi,” Thomas said, and his feet thumped away down the hall.

Dario, with regal poise, held out his hand to help Khalila up. She rolled her eyes, but accepted it. 

Glain straightened her tie and peeked out at the carriage. “Well, they didn’t spare any expense. It’s one of the new electric ones.”

“Could be a statement,” Dario countered. “The Library tried to suppress that knowledge.”

“Not anymore. Do you know how many research grants I’ve approved for electrical inventions?” Khalila said.

Muffled voices drifted down the hall, and a minute later, Thomas came hurrying back. “Santi said to go ahead without them. Wolfe needs a bit of time.”

That was vague enough to tie a knot of worry in Jess’s guts. Like Thomas, like all of them, Wolfe was making real progress in healing from the wounds of his past, but he still had difficult moments. Jess hoped this was a problem of fashion and not something worse.

By the look on her face, Khalila shared that concern. “I hate to leave them. Maybe one of us should stay back?”

“Santi is with him,” Dario said. “He’ll be fine. Come on, let’s not be late and disrupt international relations.”

As he followed his friends to the silent and gleaming electric vehicle, Jess hoped Dario was right.

* * *

Balls were far from Jess’s favorite activity, but he had to admit that he was enjoying this one thus far. Having left Thomas outside in deep conversation with the driver of the electric carriage, he stood by one of the ballroom’s tall windows, a glass of truly excellent whiskey in hand, discussing publishing with the owner of a new printing house in Boston. An old woman of English heritage in a gown sparkling with beads, the publisher had a new series of histories coming out that Jess very much wanted. They’d just about reached a deal on an exchange of publishing rights when the printer’s jaw dropped, her eyes fixed on the ballroom doors behind Jess.

“Good God, who is that?” she asked in soft amazement.

When he looked over his shoulder, Jess found himself as much in awe as the publisher. Christopher Wolfe and Niccolo Santi had just arrived. Santi, always handsome, looked good in his suit, but it was Wolfe who made Jess gape like a fish out of water.

Wolfe wore the black gown, and he wore it well. The skirts flowed around him as he walked like a king into the room, one hand resting lightly on Santi’s arm. He’d worn his hair loose, and through the gray and black waves of it, Jess spotted earrings, dark garnet studs that flashed when they caught the light, with silver chains hanging from them and a tiny silver dagger at the end of each chain, the tips brushing his shoulders. He’d lined his eyes with kohl and stained his lips a red as deep as the earrings.

In all the time he’d known Wolfe, Jess had never seen Wolfe dressed like this, but at the same time, this was the most himself Wolfe had ever been. Dark and dramatic and intimidating, Wolfe cut a path through the room like a knife through butter, leaving the partygoers gaping in his wake.

Santi, for his part, looked deeply satisfied.

“Who is…? Who are…?” the publisher asked breathlessly.

“Those are my fathers,” Jess said with a warm rush of pride. Tearing his eyes from Wolfe, he added, “So, do I have your agreement, then? Alexandrian rights on those histories for American rights on the Letitia Thomas Watson mysteries?”

“Done,” the publisher said. “Give my regards to your fathers?”

Jess was already moving away. He took out his Codex long enough to send a quick contract to the publisher, something he’d done often enough by now that he scarcely had to look at the page. By the time it was sent, he was nearly to the place at the head of the room where Wolfe and Santi had joined Khalila and Dario to greet the ambassador.

“Ambassador Johnson!” Santi said, offering his hand to shake. “Thank you so much for having us, and for your generous gift. Such fine clothing you’ve given us.” His eyes darted toward Wolfe with open appreciation of what he saw.

“You’re- You’re very welcome,” the ambassador, a portly man with coloring even lighter than Jess’s and an expensive-looking blue suit, stammered as he vigorously shook Santi’s hand.

“Yes, truly inspired choices, Ambassador,” Wolfe said, also offering his hand. “I do so adore flowing black silk.”

The ambassador took Wolfe’s hand, started to shake, and then, seeming to change his mind, he bowed over it and kissed it instead, his white face flushing red.

A rare smile spread across Wolfe’s face. Not an especially warm one, but not cruel, either. More indulgent. Regal. He held himself with the air of a monarch offering his ring for a servant to kiss.

To his side, Dario and Khalila both watched the ambassador with quiet amusement. Catching Jess’s eye, Dario gave a slight jerk of his chin in invitation to join them, but Jess shook his head and hung back, making his way around to join Glain where she stood against a pillar behind the little group, just within hearing range. She raised her glass to him in greeting, and he responded in kind.

"Watson's getting an American print run," he whispered.

Glain nodded, but kept her eyes on Wolfe and the ambassador, watchful.

“You look… stunning… Scholar,” the ambassador said as he straightened. He seemed rather lost for words.

“He does clean up well, doesn’t he,” Santi said, wrapping an arm around Wolfe’s waist. “Shall we dance, my dear?”

“But of course,” Wolfe said, his expression warming as he looked at his lover. “Thank you again, Ambassador. Archivist, Scholar Seif-Santiago.” With a polite nod to each of them, he turned and headed for the dance floor.

The ambassador stared after them.

“You look surprised, Ambassador,” Khalila said, a touch too sweetly.

“Ah, yes,” he said, still watching Wolfe and Santi. “I’d thought that the lady-”

“Whatever do you mean?” Dario interrupted, his innocent tone belied by cunning eyes. “We don’t have any ladies in our party.”

Jess, knowing full well what Dario liked to call Khalila in private, stifled a laugh. Beside him, Glain snorted.

“But-” the ambassador sputtered. “Your wife… and-and the younger soldier?” 

“I am the Archivist of the Great Library of Alexandria, not a ‘lady,’” Khalila said, her nose wrinkling at the word. “In accordance with my honor and my faith, I have forfeited all other titles of nobility and divinity. That one included.”

“I wouldn’t call Glain a lady, either,” Dario said. “She wouldn’t care for it in the least.”

“Got that right,” Glain muttered to Jess under her breath.

“My apologies, Archivist,” the ambassador said, still sounding flustered. “I meant only respect, not offense. People here… we are more... traditional than you are in Alexandria. In our clothing, I mean. A woman in trousers might be mistaken for a man, and I thought Miss Wathen-”

A snort of laughter from Dario cut him off. Khalila shot him a sharp look, but Dario only shook his head, saying, “A word of advice, Ambassador? Do _not_ let her hear you call her _that_ , either. Her proper title is _lieutenant_.”

“Such a fascinating term, _traditional,_ ” Khalila said, quickly steering the conversation away from the topic of military rank. “Especially in relation to clothing. Did you know that in ancient times…”

Somehow, Jess was not the least bit surprised that Khalila had a lecture prepared for this very occasion. His friend had a unique gift for supplying exactly the right facts at exactly the right time.

“Wanna bet Wolfe primed her for that?” Glain whispered.

Jess shrugged, shooting Glain a sidelong look. “Did _you_ know?”

“Only that he took the dress after he gave me his suit,” Glain said. “He didn’t say he was going to wear it. Looks damn good on him, though.”

Jess nodded. It really did. Out on the dance floor, Wolfe and Santi spun to the slow tune of the band, Wolfe’s skirts billowing around them. Other dancers slowed and heads turned as they passed.

As they executed a particularly graceful twirl, Glain gasped. “The boots. He’s wearing the boots.”

Jess watched Wolfe’s feet, and sure enough, when his skirt fluttered up, Jess saw the high-heeled boots that had been intended for Glain. “Didn’t know you were the same shoe size, too,” he said, not entirely sure why Glain sounded so impressed. She was wearing Wolfe’s shoes, after all.

“You just figured that out? Look again, idiot. He’s _dancing_. In _heels_.”

“Is it really that hard?” Jess asked. He’d never worn heels himself. He knew Dario did sometimes, but everyone else he knew preferred flat shoes.

“Damn near impossible, I’d say,” Glain said. “Tried them for a bit back in Wales, back when I was being all girly. Couldn’t do it. Gave up after about a week. Besides, I’m tall enough already.”

“You aren’t that tall,” Thomas said, coming up behind them and throwing an arm around each of them. He looked past them to the dance floor. “Oh, you’ve seen Scholar Wolfe, then?”

“Hard to miss him,” Jess said, watching Wolfe dip Santi backward in a move that appeared to take a great deal of balance.

“Yes, he does look very good tonight,” Thomas agreed. “But Jess, I need your help. I have been speaking with Harriet - the driver of the carriage - and she has agreed to let us have a try at driving, but we must get her a good bottle of bourbon…”

With one last look over his shoulder at Wolfe and Santi, the center of attention on the dance floor, Jess let himself be steered away to the bar and what looked to be a promising night.


End file.
